


Off-Duty Shenanigans

by scribblemyname



Series: Holiday Requests 2014 [5]
Category: Leverage, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Pregnant, Romantic Fluff, established relationships - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 15:41:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2778608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemyname/pseuds/scribblemyname
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha and Parker are off missions and jobs, respectively, because of maternity leave. But that's boring and they're not invalids.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [completelyhopeless](https://archiveofourown.org/users/completelyhopeless/gifts).



They're not allowed to go on missions (or jobs) because, as amazing and strong and independent as both women were, they had to make _some_ concession to masculine (over)protective hormones around pregnancy.

"And combat could cause a miscarriage," Natasha admitted with a sigh over her steaming cup of… hot chocolate. She mourned the lack of coffee not for the stimulants but for the taste, which she claimed rather emphatically that decaf could not touch.

Parker glared at her own cup of hot chocolate. "I could accomplish so much. No one suspects the pregnant woman."

Natasha stared at her. No one did. She raised an eyebrow. "What case are your boys working?"

"Wouldn't tell me." Parker scowled more furiously.

Natasha smiled. "I am a spy."

It was a different skillset, one a handful of thieves wouldn't be prepared for.

* * *

"Now you promise you'll be careful," Clint double-checked for the umpteenth time while Natasha gritted her teeth and bore it.

"I'm spying, not fighting," she reminded him. "No one suspects the pregnant woman."

"They'll recognize you." His brows furrowed in adorable concern.

She kissed his cheek and waved him off. "Give me _some_ credit, Barton." By the time she was ready, she could have been Parker's sister and she certainly didn't look like the Black Widow in her thick glasses and messy blonde ponytail and bookish outfit.

"Have fun."

* * *

Parker sighed in contentment hanging upside down from the harness outside of a window while Natasha handed her tools while watching Spencer's and Hardison's positions on her tracking unit.

"You should exercise as close to the due date as possible," Natasha agreed. "This was an excellent decision."

They both looked around for a moment, taking in the breeze, the view over so many unsuspecting heads, the delightful feeling of momentary weightlessness instead of aching feet and back and, seriously, they could not wait to give birth and get back their usual centers of gravity.

Parker righted herself thoughtfully and handed back the glass cutter, which Natasha tucked back into her belt. "Did your Clint think we would be grifting inside the building?"

Feet flat on the ground acting normal? Natasha snorted. "If he did, he forgot who he married."

Parker nodded. "He knows."

Natasha agreed readily. "Yes. Do your boys know about the Red Room?"

"Most days, I don't." Parker shrugged it off with a slight blankness to her face that suggested disassociation and long familiarity with leaving well enough alone. "Shall we?"

* * *

"Hardison!" Eliot's voice was hard over the comm. "There's no package!"

"What do you mean there's no package? Of _course_ there's a package. Do you think I didn't lovingly resear—"

Parker's distinctive giggle interrupted them and both men clutched their earpieces in surprise. "Got it! Meet you back at the house later. I've got a playdate first."

"We left you the cleanup," a clipped alto interjected before both women left the line.

* * *

The two reconvened at the Tower, giggling and sharing hot chocolate while they put their feet up. Clint came by and smiled, glad they had both found another friend.


	2. Chapter 2

"They did what?" Clint had that slightly wide-eyed look he got when someone did something particularly gobsmackingly unbelievable. "Natasha and Parker both?"  
  
"I for one don't want a pregnant Parker getting hurt," Eliot growled. "Why do you think she's off jobs?"  
  
"She jumped off a building," Hardison added, aggrieved. "And Natasha with her."  
  
"What? Tell me you're kidding." Clint looked between them.  
  
Eliot shook his head. "There's footage. Something could've happened to them."  
  
Clint cursed feelingly.  
  
"Exactly, man," Hardison agreed.

* * *

Natasha was lying flat on her back with a book, snuggled in the bed after a long day of good work and chatting and fun with Parker, so she wasn't expecting to hear constricted breathing when Clint shuffled inside the door to lean against it.  
  
She struggled to sit up, a certain overly large stomach in the way, and scowled at her unborn daughter for making it difficult. Technically, it wasn't their baby's fault, it was theirs, so she patted her stomach apologetically and transferred the scowl to her husband who looked like he was struggling himself. "Clint?"  
  
He caught in a ragged breath and lifted his head up to look at her. He was laughing, the jerk. She'd thought he was hurt or dying.  
  
"I don't know why in the world everyone thinks I'm not a spy," he said and collapsed bonelessly beside her on the bed, still chuckling a little before and after the sentiment. Breath well and truly caught, he added, "Have fun on your outing?"  
  
"Yes, I did," Natasha stated, eyes narrowing. "You were not spotting me from a perch, were you?" A warning note had entered her voice.  
  
"Please." He grinned. "I let you play damsel in distress to the Russian mafia without backup. You can handle a simple corporate espionage job. This was practically a milk run."  
  
"While pregnant," she prodded.  
  
"There is that." He sat up on one arm and rolled over to kiss her stomach gently.  
  
She made a small, irritated sound in the back of her throat. "Do you have any idea how annoying that is?"  
  
Clint chuckled and kissed her again. "Do you have any idea how little I care?"  
  
Yes. She had a very large idea of how much he didn't care, but she tucked her fingers in the short spikes of his hair as she sighed and held him affectionately.  
  
Just two more months and there would be baby to keep her occupied while she was still out on maternity leave—a baby to cuddle and dress and feed and keep from choking on a million small objects because she was certain to get into as much trouble as her father every chance she got.  
  
She leaned down and kissed the top of Clint's head. He hummed his contentment. On that, they were totally agreed.


End file.
